Perchance to Dream
by Hester Prynne
Summary: "To sleep, perchance to dream -- for in that sleep, what dreams may come . . . "
1. Prologue

PERCHANCE TO DREAM  
  
RATING - PG15  
DISCLAIMER - Not mine, no money, don't sue.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE - Yes, this is a Hamlet/LotR crossover. No, I don't know  
what the hell I was thinking when I thought of this.  
  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
The hour was late when the Queen's messenger sent up the call that the noble Lord Chamberlain Polonius was dead at the hands of her son, Hamlet. There was no moon in the sky. The night was dark and cold, lit only by the pale glimmer of the stars above.  
  
When her daughter had grown old enough to ask questions, she would ask Ophelia exactly how she had met her father. It was her favourite bedtime story. On each such occasion, Ophelia would sigh sadly, tucking her daughter's hair behind her tiny, pointed ear, smooth the quilt at the foot of the bed, and say that it all began with Hamlet. Always Hamlet.  
  
"I was young," Ophelia would say. "I thought I was in love."  
  
Each night she would tell of how she had loved the young Prince Hamlet, son of a king murdered by his own brother, and of the ghost, and of the Prince's descent into insanity, and of her own.  
  
"And will 'a not come again?" she would sing, an echoing memory of a life long past. "He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan -- God have mercy on his soul."  
  
And then Ophelia's eyes would glass over as she told about the day at the lake, the day she had left her life behind and fallen into the gently rippling pool, dragged down by the heavy garments she wore -- how she sank so deep into the murky waters that the sun grew dim and the world blurred and faded.  
  
But the Gods had taken pity on her, Ophelia would say, and given her another chance, snatched her from the claws of death and placed her in another world.  
  
"I lost one life," she would murmur. "But another began." 


	2. One

PERCHANCE TO DREAM  
  
RATING - PG15  
DISCLAIMER - Not mine, no money, don't sue.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE - Yes, this is a Hamlet/LotR crossover. No, I don't know  
what the hell I was thinking when I thought of this.  
  
  
ONE  
  
The moon rose high over Lorien the night that Haldir, March-Warden of Lorien and Captain of the Guard, fished the girl out of the lake. Its pale glow reflected off the water, each ripple on its glassy surface catching the light and bending it into innumerable shapes and colours.  
  
The Elven Captain was out of breath when he reached the palace of Galadriel with the strange girl clutched in his arms, soaked to the skin.   
  
The Lady was waiting for him on the steps, of course.  
  
"Bring her inside," she said, though her lips did not move. "I have foreseen her arrival. We must keep her warm and safe until she wakes. You must guard our young guest tonight."  
  
Haldir felt a slight pang of loss as the girl was taken from his arms by two ladies-in-waiting to be stripped of her wet clothing and dressed in the finest, warmest Elven night-gown to be found anywhere in Lorien.  
  
Moments later, she was dried, clothed and placed gently in a spare bed. So innocent-looking, the Captain thought as he watched the girl sleep. So soft. Lightly, he traced a line across her cheekbone with his fingertips, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind the gently pointed tip of her ear.  
  
The girl muttered something unintelligible in her sleep and shifted to lay on her side and Haldir smiled, a rare occurence. Eventually, he was also lulled to sleep by her quiet, rhythmic breathing.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The sun spilled over the windowsill and onto the bed.  
  
Ophelia was first aware of the warmth surrounding her -- the warm weight of the blankets on her body and the gentle heat of the sun tickling her face. She yawned and stretched without opening her eyes.  
  
And then froze.  
  
Her hand had connected with something solid. She was not alone.  
  
She dared not even breathe as she attempted to open her eyes just a crack to peek at her companion. Her vision had barely focused when --  
  
"You are awake, arwenamin," said a distinctly male voice.  
  
Ophelia's eyes snapped open fully, taking in the appearance of the man in the room. At least, she thought he was a man. But somehow his smooth, fair appearance betrayed that perception.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked in a language he noted to be Westron. Then, looking around the room, half-panicked, "Where are we?"  
  
"We are in Lorien, in Middle Earth, Milady, in the realm of the Galadhrim. This is the Third Age."  
  
Her eyes widened. "The . . . "  
  
"Galadhrim," he finished for her. "The wood-elves. I am Haldir."  
  
"Elves." The girl licked her bottom lip nervously. "Elves."  
  
"And might I have the pleasure of your name?" Haldir smiled as kindly as he could manage. "Seeing as I did take the liberty of extracting you from the lake last night."  
  
"The lake." Ophelia shook her head. "The lake. I fell in."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"But not here. Denmark. Home."  
  
Haldir frowned, clearly not understanding. "Den-mark? I have never heard of a Den-mark. Perhaps you are referring to the Riddermark?"  
  
"No," she insisted. "Denmark. King Claudius? Queen Gertrude?"  
  
"Strange names," he said. "And may I learn yours, as well?"  
  
"Ophelia," she replied absently. "I am Ophelia."  
  
The two sat in silence for a moment before Haldir cleared his throat and asked slowly, awkwardly, "Do you feel well enough to stand? The Lady Galadriel instructed me to let her know when you awoke, as she much desires to speak with you."   
  
"Me?" She hesitated a moment, then inclined her head slightly.  
  
"Good." He nodded curtly as he stood. "I will leave you to get dressed then. The clothes we found you in are ruined, so the Lady had some of her servants bring a dress up for you." He indicated a flowing green gown folded on a chair in the corner. "I will wait for you outside. When you are dressed I will escort you to her."  
  
She nodded absently as the strange man -- Elf -- person left the room, processing the entire conversation that had just occured. Lorien. Elves. Galadhrim. Third Age. Then she frowned. Did he have pointed ears?  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
This place -- Lorien -- was beautiful, far more beautiful than Denmark, even in its warm season, Ophelia noted as Haldir escorted her through the palace's winding hallways, past the many wide windows that looked out on the forest. She breathed deeply, attempting to take it all in -- the brilliant greens and golds of the leaves, the crisp scent of a spring morning.  
  
Their walk ended all too soon, as Ophelia was led before the Lady of Lorien, Galadriel herself. The girl shivered slightly as the snowy-robed, golden-haired Elven Queen stood before her, examining her with eyes that seemed far too old for her youthful face.  
  
You are not native to this land.  
  
Ophelia drew a sharp breath -- she had heard the Lady's voice, heard words spoken directly to her. And yet Galadriel's lips had not moved. Deep in the back of her memory, she recalled tales told to frighten young children, of witches who used their powers to ensnare unwary travellers lost in the woods. She tried her voice and her words came out shaky. "What magic is this?"  
  
The Lady of Light nodded over Ophelia's shoulder, signalling to Haldir that he could depart, before turning her eyes back to the young maiden. "No magic, young one, but simply intuition."  
  
She bit her lip. "Then can you . . . read my thoughts?"  
  
Galadriel shook her head slightly, causing her golden hair to shimmer as the light caught it. "I sense things, child -- emotion, memory -- but I have not the ability to read another's thoughts. Mind-reading is a Black Art, and we Wood-Elves have no use of such evil here."  
  
"Oh," Ophelia said.  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"As I sensed, young Ophelia, you are not of this world," Galadriel continued after a short pause. "I wish to know how you happened upon Middle-Earth, and from whence you came."  
  
The girl thought back on her past life. "I had a father," she said slowly, fighting for faded memories. "And a brother. My love was pledged to the Lord Hamlet of Denmark. But he betrayed me. My father was killed." The sudden image of her father's ruined corpse being carried out the front gate of the castle flashed before her, causing tears to spring to her eyes, but she continued. "There was a lake. I was picking flowers and I fell in and the world went dark. I thought I had died. And then I was here."  
  
Galadriel nodded slowly. "I foresaw your coming, young one, for your arrival has been prophecied. Your former life was a sad tale. It is my belief that the Valar have taken pity on you and given you another chance, another life. There will be a new love, a new chance."  
  
"And what then?" Ophelia spat in a sudden moment of bitterness, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. "Another betrayal? Another death?" She shook her head, turning away. "I will not. I cannot."  
  
"You must." The Lady stepped forward and laid a gentle, reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, stroked her hair lightly, tucking it behind her ear. "It is your purpose. Your fate. You have been reborn, Ophelia. You must not take that for granted."  
  
She nodded painfully. "What must I do?"  
  
"There is nothing to do," Galadriel said slowly. "One stage of your journey has ended. You must let go of your past or there will be no chance of a future." She smiled kindly. "I speak this as one Elf to another."   
  
Ophelia had no response.  
  
The Lady smiled enigmatically at her young guest and spoke again. "Now that your purpose here has been established, I see fit to tell you that the Elves of Mirkwood are travelling here as we speak. There will be a feast tonight in their honor, and a ball. You will be present?"  
  
Somehow it seemed wrong for Ophelia to turn down Galadriel's invitation when the Lorien Elves had done so much for her already. Hesitantly, she nodded.  
  
The Lady smiled once more, and exited the hall.  
  
It hadn't even occurred to the to check her ears until after the Lady of Lorien had gone and Ophelia was left standing in the middle of the Great Hall. When her hand touched her ear, she drew it back as if burned.  
  
Her ear came to a point at the top.  
  
She was an Elf.  
  
Ophelia fainted. 


End file.
